


Challenge

by d_aia



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Alec Lightwood, BAMF Jonathan, Canon-Typical Violence, Flexible Morals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magnus Friendly, POV Jonathan, POV Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, Valentine's A+ Parenting, break-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-06 23:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12221145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: So Jonathan has an idea. Not the sanest one, perhaps, but it’s there, in the back of his mind, and it’s getting louder and louder. Once his father insists that he loves him, Jonathan doesn’t even try to ignore it anymore.The idea goes like this: What would Lightwood do with him?Other than have Jonathan arrested, obviously.*Jonathan decides not to take his father's bullshit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, there's a Russian translation (for which I'm very grateful, thank you so much guys!) [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/7677949) by Roleri and accompanying fanart [here](http://mccreation.tumblr.com/post/181198552731/for-the-challenge-by-daia-%D0%BF%D0%B5%D1%80%D0%B5%D0%B2%D0%BE%D0%B4) by [McCreation](http://mccreation.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the show or the books (and characters, locations, personal histories etc as are shown in them). This is the work of fanfiction.
> 
> Warnings: Break-up; Flexible Morals; Implied/Referenced Child Abuse; Magnus/Alec is still ongoing at the start of this story, but they're having problems. That being said, it's no one's fault that their relationship ends. Nobody is the bad guy in this break-up. If you see something I need to tag, let me know. 
> 
> Thanks & Acknowledgements: I am so grateful to Lex for enduring my passionate speeches and cheering me on even though I'm sure her ears were ringing. Thank you! 
> 
> Update: Once a week (Fri-Mon). 
> 
> A/N: At one point Raphael is going to call somebody _'idiota.'_ Yes, it's Simon :D. If you're disinclined to look it up and don't know, it means 'idiot.'
> 
> Edit: Yes, I know that Magnus has the wrong words highlighted, I did it on purpose. When I first started watching the show, I thought Magnus has odd speech patterns. I kept them because I thought they added personality and they fit. In my mind, he does it intentionally to bamboozle people :D.

It starts with Jonathan trying to save Lightwood and discovering that Lightwood has it handled.

When studying up on the New York Institute, Jonathan found Lightwood to be the most paranoid of the Shadowhunters currently there, and one that had the influence to give him problems. What better way to gain entrance than by being the hero of the person who doesn’t trust anybody?  If, by some miracle, Lightwood showed him benevolence, then Jonathan’s job was done, and if not, Lightwood would be seen as an ungrateful ass.

So, Jonathan releases a dozen assorted demons—Valentine is doing precisely the opposite of what he preaches, they are _everywhere_ —in Lightwood’s path.

Lightwood is unfazed. Even though he is coming from his boyfriend’s place, he’s alert and confident in his movements. He ducks, rolls, slashes, but mostly he uses that seemingly magical bow of his. In no time at all, the demons are ashes, and Lightwood _yawns_ lightly, before continuing on his way.

And Jonathan? Jonathan blinks. He’s not impressed, but as far as he knew, Lightwood wasn’t much of a Shadowhunter. Not as much of a wave-maker as Clary, or as well known for skills outside the battle as his sister, Isabelle. Not nearly as powerful or as famous as Jace. Apparently, though, Lightwood is okay. Good, would be a better word. Jonathan doesn’t think there’s something special about him. Lightwood is just… Huh. He’s just competent.

However, Jonathan is on a schedule. It’s going to be Lightwood’s sister next night. She’s almost as good for Jonathan’s needs. But Jonathan is going to keep an eye on Lightwood. Maybe, he’ll prove himself adequate again.

*

Lightwood is an asshole. An unrepentant, judgy asshole. One who happens to be right, of course, and who’s surrounded by idiots and too-trusting fools, but an asshole nonetheless. He quotes the types of authorization necessary, and Jonathan’s complete lack of them, even though his persona has the studies. What’s more, Lightwood fails to show any kind of gratitude for saving his sister’s life except the original handshake and, honest-seeming, ‘thanks for saving my sister’s life.’

He’s even done this before with Clary, which is something Lightwood’s sister barely abstains from pointing out instead speaking with him from _four_ steps away like that could possibly go unheard by Jonathan, or any other Nephilim older than ten.

Lightwood takes his sister’s scolding like it’s no big deal for a Head of the Institute to be told he should _trust_ more. He’s grumpy as result, but his sister suffers no punishment after publically doubting him, and he keeps on doing it. He’s not swayed.

At this point, Jonathan has several thoughts. One is: Lightwood is incapable of keeping control of the Shadowhunters under his command. Granted, it may be just his family, but Clary doesn’t look all that cowed either. Definitely won’t be a problem causing chaos here.

The second is: when he says ‘no,’ he means ‘no.’

The third is: his family is important for no other clear reason than it is _his_ family.

And the fourth is: Lightwood would have been the ideal son for Jonathan’s father. Duty first, not too caring, takes punches without complaint, not too trusting, hard worker, authority figures are always right, compartmentalizes like a dream, capable of looking for resources when those at his disposal are lacking… Perfect. He’s perfect. Valentine’s dream is Jace’s parabatai. Jonathan could laugh.

*

Lightwood banishes Azazel.

How?

Lightwood realizes the truth about the exchange and saves the Warlock, Magnus Bane.

Really?

Lightwood pardons the Alpha, Luke Garroway.

Son—of—a—bitch.

Jonathan has to rethink things.

*

In the end, Jonathan has changed most of his original thoughts. Lightwood’s family is still important, but it is not simple to create chaos at the Institute. When Lightwood says ‘no,’ he means, ‘yes, but I’ll move with the speed of a glacier.’ And he’d be downright terrifying as Valentine’s son.

Right now, Jonathan is banking on so many things that he only had time to observe in passing, but he has to.

Because for all of Valentine’s sermons, he doesn’t seem to have a leg to stand on. Valentine speaks of power and experiments to create the best, of his love being the driving mechanism behind it all, of his dedication to both the Shadow World and his children as the innocent cause of Jonathan’s predicament. Only, that’s false. Right, the Soul Sword shows that Valentine firmly believes in them, but that’s not the same as true. Just a crazed man sprouting shit. Nothing to see here.

If Valentine was right, then Lightwood shouldn’t exist. He shouldn’t be able, with just hard work, luck, and determination, to see through Jonathan’s plans, and Lightwood definitely has no place banishing a greater demon. He shouldn’t have the power for it. The strength, and the corruption that comes with forging it. He wasn’t raised like Jonathan was, wasn’t raised like Jace, so how then does Lightwood make do? Wasn’t that the point of Valentine’s training and experiments? That they do what _no one_ can? Lightwood’s simple presence is proof that Valentine was wrong.

So Jonathan has an idea. Not the sanest one, perhaps, but it’s there, in the back of his mind, and it’s getting louder and louder. Once his father insists that he loves him, Jonathan doesn’t even try to ignore it anymore.

The idea goes like this: What _would_ Lightwood do with him?

Other than have Jonathan arrested, obviously.

Because the other problem is that Jonathan may believe Valentine. When Valentine tells him he had no choice, that Jonathan was beyond his control, Jonathan’s defense is weak. He doesn’t know what Valentine should have done, Jonathan just knows that it _hurt_ , both emotionally and physically, and so he knows what he’s talking about when he tells Valentine that he should have done things differently. But Valentine insists, in a reasonable tone, that there was only one thing he could have done, dismissing Jonathan’s pain as an unfortunate consequence that Valentine couldn’t avoid.

It pisses Jonathan off, but he’s angrier at himself for not finding another way.

However, if Jonathan has learned one thing from his limited time at the New York Institute, then using all the resources he has, either at his disposal or peripherally, is it. He can’t find another way, can’t throw in throw it in Valentine’s face, but that doesn’t mean it’s not out there for somebody else to stumble upon. And who better than Lightwood himself?

Fine then, it’s decided.

Jonathan leaves Valentine tied to the chair, flames all around him, and one semi-clear path of escape that can be reached, but it’s going to take a few hours. He’s less likely to search for another one when it practically stares him right in the face. Admittedly it takes a bit of thinking to reach that conclusion, but he’ll get suspicious if it’s too easy. It wouldn’t do for Valentine to find a less obvious route, and get out of there faster. 

The Soul Sword, Jonathan takes with him. After hiding it and checking for people following him, obsessively so, both after leaving Valentine and the Sword, he makes his way to the Institute. He knows that Lightwood spends less time at his boyfriend’s house after the meeting with the Downworlders, but there’s still a possibility that Lightwood went to the Warlock’s apartment after… No, there Lightwood is.

Entering his room.

Perfect.

Jonathan keeps his distance, catches the door that Lightwood lets swing shut behind him, and Jonathan is in with no one the wiser.

“I’ve got a confession to make,” Jonathan says.

Lightwood turns around with commendable speed. His eyes also dart around the room, probably to plan out his escape routes: the window and the door… the wall and the ceiling. Hm, creative. It’s useless anyway, there is only one exit, the door, and Jonathan is planted front of it, but Lightwood gets one point for originality.

“Sebastian.” Lightwood sounds calm. He’s not, but he acts like it. That’s precisely how a leader should behave, and Jonathan is on his way to believing he made a good choice. “What is it?”

“My name’s not Sebastian.”

Lightwood’s eyes dart again toward the door. “Oh?” He doesn’t seem surprised and Jonathan finds that he believes him.

“My name is Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern and I think we should talk.”

Lightwood’s eyebrows have achieved lift-off. He stills. “You don’t say.”

Jonathan nods with an easy smile. “It seems like the thing to do. I mean, I’ve got the Soul Sword, so if you’re interested…”

Lightwood’s eyes dart one more time to the door, this time accompanied by a nearly imperceptible nod. Feeling consternated, Sebastian checks the door from the corner of his eye. Lightwood has proven difficult in the past and now is not the time to be interrupted, but… There’s no one there.

The tricky bastard.

Jonathan smirks as he turns fully expecting to see an arrow trained on him.

“What do I call you then?” Lightwood asks from behind the bow. His breathing is steady. He’s prepared to shoot.

“Whatever you want,” Jonathan answers. “I also have Valentine.”

“Are you in a sharing mood?” Lightwood’s full lips twist in a smirk. “With the Clave perhaps?”

“I am, as a matter of fact. And, please, put the bow away. There’s nothing you—or the Clave—can do to truly hurt me.”

“Ambitious statement.”

Jonathan drops the glamour, flaunting his burns. “As you can see, I know a thing or two about agony.”

“That does look painful.” Lightwood presses his lips together. “And I can’t imagine how excruciating it must have felt when it happened.” A breath and then he asks,“Is it still?”

It catches Jonathan off guard. That’s probably what Lightwood intended, but it’s still the first time Jonathan got asked about his burns and the pain they cause. “I don’t know,” he finds himself saying. “They’ve got to be, haven’t they?” he asks with a savage smile.

Lightwood frowns. “Would you like them to?”

It further throws Jonathan off-balance. “I don’t know,” he repeats. And then he says it again, as if it were a realization, “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Lightwoods says. No, he soothes. His tone gentling like he is speaking with a wild animal. Or a rabid one. “Why don’t you tell me what you wanted to talk about?”

“I want you to show me how I can be fixed,” Jonathan demands.

Lightwood blinks rapidly, startled. “If I knew that, I would have fixed myself.” His eyes widen like he hadn’t meant to say that. “And there wasn’t anything wrong with me.”

“I’m not gay, I kill people. Torture some of them,” Jonathan says.

“I do too, but it was the gay thing I had issues with.”

Jonathan shakes his head, amusement bubbling up in his throat. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant. I want to prove to somebo—to my father that sending me to Edom wasn’t the only way.”

“Valentine sent you to—”

“Edom.”

“Well…” Lightwood trails off. “That definitely didn’t work.”

“Apparently I’m uncontrollable because of the demon blood he injected me with when or since I was in my mother’s womb.”

Lightwood makes a disturbed face from behind the bow. But it hadn’t been lowered at any point during the discussion. The grip, however, has been relaxed on the arrow since the beginning, probably so as to not tire his arm. All in all, very by the book.

“He realized that it might not have been a great idea when I tried to kill Jace and he sent me… away,” Jonathan says in a monotone. “But he swears on the Soul Sword that he is proud of me and I wa _nt to rip his teeth out his skull._ ”

Jonathan’s growl is followed by silence on Lightwood’s part, and the sound of a busy Institute becomes that much louder.

“Not killing Jace  _is_ a good idea, and people have wanted to rip Valentine’s teeth out for a lot less than sending them to Edom, but I still don’t see how this would work,” Lightwood says calmly. “Jace is here. So is your sister. You have Valentine and the Soul Sword, _and_ have killed the real Sebastian. I’m guessing, unless you’ve gone with just the torturing. And that’s just what you told me. If you don’t want to be killed or handed over for interrogation, why come to me?”

“I am willing to compromise on some things if you are,” Jonathan answers. “And, if you find a solution.”

“You’d have to compromise on a lot and…” Lightwood licked his lips. “It may not be something to be fixed, not because it’s right, necessarily, but because it may be a part of you. You might have to work around it.”

“The question is, will it be controlled?”

“I have no idea.” Lightwood sighs. “Why did you want to kill Jace?”

“He was pure.”

“And now?”

“I’ll wait until he finds out about me and see how he reacts.”

“That doesn’t tell me much,” Lightwood complains. “Change of plans. You need to make sure the real Sebastian is found and I need to find Valentine. Do you have anything of value?”

“Of value?”

“Something you might pay a Warlock with?”

“Yes?” Jonathan doesn’t know where this is going. “I imagine I do, yes.”

“So after we do step one, you’re going to come with me to a Warlock and try to get your burns looked at for step two. You’ll also tell me where the Soul Sword is. Preferably now,” Lightwood announces. “How’s that sound?”

“Like you have no idea what you’re doing, but otherwise fine. And by the way, I’m not giving my leverage away that easily.”

“I _don’t_ know what I’m doing,” Lightwood admits easily. “And I thought you might want to keep your advantage, but I’m telling you I need it for before the second step. How do I know you’ll be back anyway?”

“I came to you, didn’t I?” Jonathan smirks.

Lightwood nods studying Jonathan intently. “Where is Valentine?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

About a week later, Jonathan, glamoured as Jace, is going with Lightwood to a Warlock.

“We have an appointment,” Lightwood says and nothing else until they reach their destination.

Jonathan is… hopeful. Not about the meeting or the fact that there will be something the Warlock can do for Jonathan’s burns, but about how things are shaping up. Lightwood held up his end of the bargain, Jonathan his, and Lightwood’s plans seem to be succeeding. Perhaps the key is not to let them get too intricate.

How long this would continue is anyone’s guess.

Lightwood presses the buzzer. “Five o’clock appointment,” he says as soon as it’s picked up.

“Alexander?” Bane’s voice sounds surprised. “ _What_ are yo—Come in.”

“Your boyfriend,” Jonathan comments wryly as they make their way to the apartment.

“The High Warlock of Brooklyn,” Lightwood shoots back and knocks.

“ _Why_ did you need an appointment?” Bane asks. “Why are _you_ here with Jace?”

“I needed a consult and all that entails,” Lightwood says. “Hi. He’s not Jace.”

“All _right_ ,” Bane accepts. He turns and gestures grandly, “Step into my office.”

The apartment is just as eccentrically decorated as its owner. Nothing that screams cheap or too not in its place, but eclectic nonetheless. Strong colors, a brush of shimmer, and many little trinkets that catch Jonathan’s attention.

“Would you _like_ a drink?” Bane asks politely. “I feel like I’m going to need one, but I _think_ I’m going to have to work.”

“This is a delicate situation,” Lightwood starts.

“ _Which_ I gathered by your invoking the confidentiality clause and them glamouring as your parabatai,” Bane quips.

“And before you throw us out, he’s the reason Valentine is custody,” Lightwood continues.

“That is counts in his favor though _I_ don’t know why it’s needed,” Bane says dryly analyzing Jonathan.

“He’s a Nephilim who has been dosed with an unknown quantity of demon blood and has had his skin burnt off in Edom where he used to live,” Lightwood finishes.

Bane has his eyes narrowed, but, otherwise, his expression screams incredulity. “And I’m getting paid _for_ this?”

“Yes,” Jonathan says and he removes his glamour. “A lot.”

Studying him once more, Bane asks, “And what _is_ this? What is the expected _result_ here?”

Lightwood shrugs. “An evaluation, and whatever else you can do.”

“When was the demon _blood_ introduced?” Bane asks with a different glint in his eye. Not knowing, not mischievous, nothing Jonathan has seen before. It’s almost… professional.

Lightwood nods, and Jonathan takes over answering, “The first few times in the womb.”

Bane tenses. _“Jonathan?”_

“You reached that conclusion quick,” Jonathan says with his eyebrow raised.

“The Nephilim are not kind with their children, but there are very few who reach this level,” Bane says. “Who else _could_ you be?”

“Fair enough,” Jonathan offers. “What can you do?”

“The demon blood is a part _of_ you now, you have adapted to it, I can’t do anything, and there’s no spell to heal your burns,” Magnus lists in a neutral tone. There’s no judgment.

It appears that today it’s the Downworlders’ turn to surprise him.

Jonathan opens his mouth to accept the words, he didn’t expect anything else, when Magnus adds, “But there is a potion.”

Shutting his mouth with a click, Jonathan asks, “A potion?” Impossible, simply impossible. It can’t be. A trick and nothing more.

“Yes,” Magnus replies. “ _Very_ painful, _very_ costly. It was something I came across in my travels. Used in a _time_ when it was customary to burn people’s eyes. As I understand it, the pain is… Well. You’d know better than me. It’s supposed to work for the _senses_ and the organs responsible. I’ve never seen it used for skin, but there’s no reason why it wouldn’t work.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Jonathan snaps involuntarily. His throat is dry. He swallows.

“ _Payment_ after the treatment,” Bane says. A gentle smile plays on his lips. His soothing manner is not over-the-top, but it’s giving Jonathan hives. Luckily, something must have shown on Jonathan’s face because it reverts to neutrality as Bane adds, “That is, _of course_ , if you even have it.”

“It depends,” Jonathan says roughly. “How much is Lilith’s escape spell worth to you?”

Bane doesn’t act any differently, but Jonathan can see how his eyes widen slightly, how he straightens a little bit, how he tenses just a touch. Oh, Bane wants that spell. Not to blame him, Lilith is a master at escaping prisons, but sometimes her capturers are angels and that’s when she uses magic. With how things are shaping up, it was valuable before but critical now.

“You _will_ have to be put under a stasis spell during the procedure,” Bane says, casually changing the subject. A bit too casually. “And I can only give you a time frame of a month. As I said, it hasn’t been tested on skin, but it doesn’t affect organs it can’t heal _so_ it’s perfectly safe. I should have it by the day _after_ tomorrow.”

Jonathan can’t believe this is happening.

*

Before being put to sleep, but after taking the potion and feeling the pain crawl through his toes to signal that it working, Jonathan hooks a hand behind Lightwood’s neck.

“Safehouse, 131 Christopher Street,” Jonathan whispers in Lightwood’s ear, pressing the key in his hand.

Lightwood nods. “Take care and good luck.”

Jonathan activates his glamour to quickly press a kiss on Lightwood’s lips. “Thank you.” He doesn’t say if it’s for what Lightwood has done, if it’s for an answer to his well-wishes, or it’s a cheeky response to Jonathan’s stolen kiss. It’s for all of them.

Lightwood makes a face and says something, but Jonathan can’t hear anymore. The pain is too great. He welcomes the darkness.

*

When Jonathan comes to, Lightwood is there, and Jonathan doesn’t know if he likes his heart beating harder at the sight of Lightwood.

Jonathan goes to say something and finds his throat is raw. Right, because he was screaming there at the end. He licks his lips in a vague hope for moisture and croaks, “How long?” He’s coughing immediately afterward, but he thinks Lightwood understands.

“Two weeks and a half,” Lightwood answers as prompted. “Here, have a glass of water.”

Jonathan drinks, savoring it. He closes his eyes and… sits for a second. His skin doesn’t pull, a burden he didn’t even know he had seems to have been removed from his shoulders—the pain?—and the world seems much more habitable. Even his mind is clearer.

“Thanks,” Jonathan says and lifts his glass to indicate what he’s grateful for. He has the distinct feeling he’s lying. “What now?”

“Now, _I_ get paid,” Bane cuts in.

Jonathan rolls his eyes and asks, “Piece of paper?” A snap of Bane’s fingers and it’s in front of him. He writes the spell, and then he adds a rune for secrecy and one that allows only the recipient to see what’s on the paper. “It’s shared with permission, for you only.” He passes it to Bane, who looks appropriately impressed, and goes to find a mirror.

“Hmm,” Jonathan says at his image. He looks a lot like Sebastian, there’s a reason—well, more than one—he chose him. They could’ve passed as brothers. The pale skin, same golden hair, now very short, similar features, his cheekbones are a bit higher than Sebastian’s, nothing noticeable, and Jonathan’s taller and has a more muscular frame. He thinks he’s about Lightwood’s height now. The truly different things from what Jonathan knew are his nose, which he broke when he was a toddler and it’s all healed now, and his eyes. They are a startling green. “I had black eyes.”

“ _You_ didn’t,” Bane says unconcerned. “That’s probably the demon venom.”

“Hmm,” Jonathan repeats. His accent rings clear, uninhibited by his tongue and lips. He picked it up involuntarily in Edom. It’s very similar to Sebastian’s and it’s still such a dark joke: Jonathan speaks like his torturer who speaks like the man Jonathan killed. “It healed my nose.” An iratze could have taken care of it, but he wasn’t allowed to use it in time.

“The potion heals senses _and_ related organs,” Bane explains with a generous flap of his hand. “Are we done here? And _before_ you offer, a kiss is unnecessary.”

“I wasn’t offering, and thanks,” Jonathan says and bows his head in a motion of respect he can’t help.

Bane makes a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry _about_ it.” His eyes fly to Lightwood and back. “Try not to kill each other, will you? I do hate to get the same work twice.”

Jonathan nods.

“Come on,” Lightwood tells Jonathan. “Goodbye, Magnus, and thank you.”

“It was my pleasure, Alexander.” Magnus waves cheekily.

No touch. He tries to remember the first time and there wasn’t any kiss, or hug, or even a handshake then either. Are they being professional, is Alec—because it isn’t Magnus—shy, or have they broken up?

Jonathan actively refrains from asking Lightwood as he follows him to the door.

“He’s beautiful, isn’t he?” Magnus asks airily and it takes a moment for Jonathan to tell that he’s being addressed. Turning ancient cat eyes on Jonathan, Magnus says intently, “Hurt him and I’ll find a way to make you suffer.”

Jonathan has no doubt that Magnus can make good on his promise, but Jonathan is not the type to show that he’s intimidated. He smirks in response and doesn’t say anything. Plus, it’s not like he’s intending any harm to come to Lightwood.

Magnus simply laughs lightly and closes the door.

Jonathan shakes his head and starts down the stairs. It takes a while before he realizes. He’s getting used to walking, moving, breathing without the burns, so he has an excuse.

Lightwood is tense.

“Look,” Jonathan says, puts a hand on Lightwood’s arm, and Lightwood turns immediately towards him. “I promise I won’t lie to Alexander Gideon Lightwood.” He draws a big promise rune that wraps like a collar around his throat. They both know he won’t survive the breaking of it.

“So you’re a Seelie now?” Lightwood asks unimpressed. “Because you could always be one. You had all the pretty words lined up and ready to use.”

“It’s a symbol,” Jonathan shoots back, and, damn him, but he likes that Lightwood is not taken with Jonathan’s grand gestures. “It means that I’m dedicated to making this happen. Show me that you’re worthy and I’ll do follow you to Edom,” he says peering into Lightwood’s eyes.

Incidentally, Jonathan was right, they are almost the same height, with Lightwood still the taller one if he straightens like he does now.

“And if I don’t, you’ll kill and/or torture everyone I care about,” Lightwood replies. The way he says it, like it’s a foregone conclusion and not a horrible thought that just occurred to him, makes Jonathan feel less… less like a freak. Less like a monster. Like he belongs in some way because his behavior and his way of thinking don’t shock.

“Yes, fine, but you only know because I told you.”

“It could be a plan to get you healed—”

“I didn’t think that I was going to get any better.”

“And to gain my trust,” Lightwood finishes.

“You completely missed my point,” Jonathan argues. “At least you know what _I_ am capable of. You never knew that before and you got hit hard because of it. I’m asking for…”

“For?”

“I don’t know. But I’m asking for it. Can’t we just…” Jonathan trails off again. “Just… take it easy?”

Lightwood watches him. “Small steps?”

“Small steps.”

“Okay.” Lightwood takes a deep breath. “Your name is Jonathan Darkwater. You lived everywhere, never made any friends, and took assignments undercover. That should explain your wealthy experience that you keep wanting to share,” he says, grumpy expression in place. Good, that means he’s got his balance back. “If it will—and it will—come out that you are Valentine’s son, you say that’s the reason you took the name Darkwater. You ran away as a teenager, and tried to move a lot because of it.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrow. “That’s suspiciously convenient.”

“Coincidence?” Lightwood asks innocently.

Jonathan simply looks at him.

“Jonathan Darkwater existed,” Lightwood says. “The Clave told me he was in New York some months ago. He was undercover with a nomad Downworlder mixed…”—Lightwood has no idea what to call it and it’s hilarious—“group and got himself killed. The Clave only knew he was in trouble and I was supposed to offer him assistance without anyone knowing about it. I found his body when we were dealing with the Downworlder Cabinet and I didn’t get the chance to report it. The history fits.”

_Didn’t get a chance to report it._ Ha. Lightwood purposefully didn’t report Darkwater’s death. He was waiting for a chance to spin it somehow.

“Jonathan Darkwater, I am in your debt. Why, I barely managed to escape as the others got taken by Circle members when I stumbled into you and you helped me,” Jonathan says mirthfully. “So I want a transfer to the New York Institute. It’s a matter of honor. Also, I heard you have an open position. Security, is it?”

“It’s already granted,” Lightwood says easily. “You start right after Aline’s birthday, on Tuesday after she leaves for Beijing.”

“Aline Penhallow?”

“Yes, your former cousin, whose birthday you don’t even know. The investigation into Sebastian’s death yielded no result and she needs to go back.”

So that’s why Lightwood told Jonathan to make sure Sebastian would be found. Lightwood didn’t want his friend to be sad on her birthday. That’s adorable. On the other hand, Jonathan would definitely have had to kill a lot of people to get to this point with his cover intact. And it didn’t even occur to him to see a Warlock.

“Izzy’s taking it from here,” Lightwood adds. “She was devastated that her savior died until they found out that the real Sebastian has been dead while Sebastian was still at the Institute. What do you know? You can’t trust anybody these days.” He rolls his eyes. “Now, she’s pissed.”

“You can’t trust anybody who appears all of a sudden,” Jonathan notes. “Did you accept it?”

“What?”

“Her apology for the scolding.”

Lightwood frowns. “Let’s go.”

Jonathan might be wrong, but he didn’t think she apologized. He smirks. “Where?”

“To your apartment,” Lightwood answers stiffly. “You have to go over your history.”

Grinning, Jonathan watches Lightwood from the corner of his eye.


	3. Chapter 3

There a lot less manipulation this time around and a lot more honest answers. As such, Jonathan isn’t exactly popular. Not that he couldn’t still fool people, but he actually wants to stay this time and he wants to figure out how people react to him.

Maybe he flaunts his personality and confidence where everyone else who is new would be meek and would try to hide their own opinions, but he has the chance to a history that’s not very far from what he has experienced, a shot at meeting people with _his_ face and _his_ powers. He doesn’t want to ruin it with reactions that aren’t his own. If people don’t like him, it will be for who is. 

It gets annoying. The Institute acts they do with anynewcomer—lots and lots of testing. They’re a bit warier than the last time, but Jonathan respects that. Of Lightwood’s group, Jace is a lot more circumspect this time around, generally keeping his distance, and Izzy, with her glaring daggers at Jonathan whenever he’s in her field of vision, is tiring. She definitely suspects something and her ire grows each time she sees Jonathan.

Clary, _his sister_ , is the only one who is welcoming and insists on giving him a fair chance, but Jonathan has a suspicion that, even though she’s known for always wanting to do the right thing, this time it has more to do with her demonstrating to Lightwood how they should behave with new additions. Something that is hilarious and tragic, at the same time. She has the charisma of a leader, there’s little doubt about it, and she’s lucky she wasn’t raised in their world so there are no prejudices to speak of, but that’s the same reason why she fails to understand how things work here.

With the way things are looking, her suddenly having the power to dream new runes, there’s little chance that she would ever be fully one of them, and the leader must be one of the people otherwise there’s no progress made.

Jonathan has finally understood something he always heard about and never felt himself: you can love someone but not like them very much. He loves Clary. Jonathan can see a good in her that doesn’t make him jealous. A good that he wants to admire, but doesn’t wish for himself. And he doesn’t like Clary. Because she’s a person, and people who try to appear perfect usually end up hypocrites. He knows _all_ about it.

Wayward siblings aside, because Jace actually had the chance of being his brother, Jonathan needs to relax. Meditation sounds like a good idea, and, because he was always crap at clearing his mind, something physical and soothing it is. He knows the Dance of Daggers like the back of his hand, and it always made him calm down, with or without the blindfold.

Jonathan’s almost done his stretches when Izzy enters the—closed and private—training room.

“Hello,” Izzy says with such fake cheerfulness it may actually manage to give Jonathan hives.

“Hi, did you need me for something?”

Izzy smiles innocently. Fake. So fake! “Just wanted to know what you were up to.”

“I was about to do some active meditation actually, so if you don’t mind?”

With a—fake—laugh, Izzy asks, “You need to be alone for it?”

“That’s generally how I do it, yes,” Jonathan says as he steadily adds to his stretches.

“I think I’ll watch,” Izzy replies politely. Or it would have been if Jonathan had invited her.

Jonathan lets his smile drop. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“You don’t have anything to hide, do you?” Izzy asks shrewdly.

“I don’t need to have something to hide to want solace.”

Izzy smirks, moves her hip, and suddenly her curves stand out. “Guys don’t usually want that from me,” she purrs.

“Then they haven’t met your brother,” Jonathan snaps. His excuse for the reply is that Izzy managed to surprise him—for a fraction of a second only, of course—and he’s sticking with it.

Mouth parting, Izzy whispers, “Oh.”

Jonathan continues his stretching; he desperately needs to meditate.

“My brother has a boyfriend,” Izzy says. “Alec’s in love with Magnus.”

“Love is not everything,” Jonathan replies, even though he doesn’t particularly want to.

Izzy huffs. “And what else is there? Lust? Fun? You read Alec wrong.”

“I meant that sometimes love is not enough.” Jonathan hears the sadness in his tone and wants to hide it deep inside him. He knows why it’s there. _His_ name goes unsaid even in his mind. “You can love somebody and beloved by that person yourself, and at the end of the day be worse off.”

Frowning, Izzy says, “That sounds like a story.”

“It does.” Jonathan has no more patience for this conversation. “Do you mind? I’m done with my stretches.”

Izzy gives up as well and straight up tells him, “I don’t trust you.”

“Trust is earned and it’s shared.”

“So you don’t trust me either?” Izzy seems unimpressed. “Good. Now stay away from my family and friends.”

“Even even if I wanted to listen, which I don’t, I don’t believe I can. And you don’t have the authority to command me not to speak with the Head of the Institute. Unless you want to accuse me of something, and for that you need proof. You have none otherwise you wouldn’t be ordering me in the first place, you’d be tattling straight to him.” Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Your brother trusts me. Why isn’t that enough?”

That puts Izzy on the defensive. “Alec is not good with people.”

Jonathan lets the silence hang over those words. They’re pretty damning. It implies everything from she thinks Lightwood shouldn’t be a leader to she doesn’t trust her brother. Even after he was proven right.

“I’m saddened that you have that opinion about the Head of the Institute,” Jonathan finally says. She winces, but he keeps going, “I don’t share it, of course, but if you are so adamant about it maybe you could lodge a formal complaint with the Clave. It must be said, though, to have his career cut off at its knees when it just takes off, by his sisterno less, will be very hard for him. At least, he’ll have his family.” She pales dramatically, but he doesn’t let up, “Oh wait. He won’t.” He pauses, only to continue, “But this whole gossiping about how incompetent he is—I mean, who has ever heard of a successful leader not being good with people? It’s just as bad.”

Izzy goes for her a punch, but Jonathan catches it.

“Do not touch me,” Jonathan warns. “I haven’t said anything that’s not true.”

Izzy turns on her heels and is out of there. Jonathan can almost see the flames of her temper. And Jonathan? He feels better already.

*

The second time Jonathan meditates, a person accidentally enters the room. They leave soon after. The third he’s interrupted twice. By the fifth time, he’s certain there’s a crowd waiting outside the door.

Jonathan supposes he can see the appeal of a blindfolded man, twirling half naked with daggers, but not when that man is him.

As such, Lightwood’s bark of, ‘Back to work,’ should’ve come as a blessing.

But it doesn’t.

Jonathan’s angry. It’s wired in his bones to listen to that tone and do whatever is asked of him, but he hates it. He hates his reaction to it. He hates that he has his reasons for disliking it so. He hates that he went to a man who uses it. What is he doing?

Missing a step, Jonathan stops before he stabs himself.

The door opens.

Jonathan shivers and keeps his blindfold on.

“Sorry about that,” Lightwood says calmly. “They won’t disturb you again.”

Jonathan jerks his head in a nod.

Lightwood hesitates. “Everything all right?” he asks concernedly.

That. That is what Jonathan’s doing. He’s looking for another way. He doesn’t agree that the only option is banishing him to a dark world. He’s doing something for himself and Lightwood accepted that.

Lightwood is concerned for and about Jonathan because Lightwood has superiors and even more people he answers to. He is not Valentine for all the barks in the world. In fact, Lightwood’s bark held actual command, while Valentine’s held only intimidation and poorly hidden violence. Valentine is nothing without his power, while Lightwood never had it, he just _made do_.

“Yes,” Jonathan says as he relaxes. “Bad memories.”

“I’m sorry,” Lightwood replies and he sounds like he means it. “Should I let you get back to it or do you want to spar?”

Jonathan smiles. “I’ll to get back to it or I won’t, but I’m fine and I don’t want to spar.” So maybe he phrases it specifically so he’ll find out what Lightwood does in the face of a little rudeness.

“Sure,” Lightwood says as if nothing is amiss. “Bye.”

Jonathan nods as his smile slowly becomes real.

*

Jonathan is feeling itchy. He has been trying to shoulder the annoyance with aplomb and pleasantness—his trial period is almost over, he feels it—but an unsettled feeling soon came to light. He can’t stand still. He can’t focus. He wants to feel the crunch of bones under his fist. He wishes he saw the blood crawl down his daggers. He craves a fight. And it only gets got stronger and stronger.

When in response to Lightwood’s announcement that there was a tourist Werewolf out of control but that he managed to be contained in a random house, Jace lightly touched his weapon, Jonathan couldn’t handle it anymore.

“Hand off the blade, Jace,” Jonathan drawls. “There was no one injured.”

Jace turned to him. “They could have been.”

“They weren’t. He lost it, but there were people to help. It happens,” Jonathan says. His tone is provocative, he’s aware, but damn if he doesn’t want Jace to get mad and do something, so Jonathan looks Jace up and down. “Nobody is perfect.” Jonathan even gives Jace his best shit-eating grin, guaranteed to piss Jace off.

But then...

“What would you suggest we do?” Lightwood’s voice cuts through Jace’s anger to Jonathan’s disappointment.

“I’m not an expert,” Jonathan begins and now Jace is smirking. “But.” Jonathan pauses just to highlight the way Jace’s face darkens like clouds gathering. “We could try to support the Werewolves so that many such houses are maintained throughout the city. Maybe add a fridge with blood and that’ll make it good for Vampires too. They can’t help it and it’s our duty to make sure the Shadow World doesn’t spill into the Mundane one.”

“Jace?” Lightwood asks.

Jonathan notes that Clary appears suddenly very taken with a dull painting before looking at Jace and finding him… pensive.

Damn.

“Make them soundproof, reinforce the walls,” Jace mumbles. “Come up with the money for it, not that hard, and it may work.”

“Somebody will have to go and talk it over with the Werewolves,” Lightwood claims. “And the Vampires.”

Jace looks at him, but Jonathan is not having it.

“It’s all yours,” Jonathan offers.  He doesn’t want to be shunned when he kills the whole Pack for being prats, he worked too much for that. Plus, it might win him points with others at the Institute. It’s a perfect opportunity to show modesty and kindness.  “Grab Izzy?”

Lightwood nods, Jace looks accepting, while Izzy just glares.

“Guys!” Clary shouts. “What if the mirror _isn’t_ a mirror at all? In my dreams… the Angel showed me water. A reflection. I think… I think that the Mortal Mirror might be Lake Lyn.”

Jonathan frowns. “That’s certainly a new interpretation.”

“It makes sense,” Clary insists. “And it fits my visions.”

“That means that you can destroy a Mortal Instrument,” Jace says.

“How?” Izzy asks. “Do you want to go to the Clave to ask for it to be drained?”

“It’s not like it has another purpose like the Sword and the Cup,” Jace retorts.

“Do you have any idea how much water we’re talking about?” Izzy huffs. “I don’t either, and that’s not a point in our favor.”

“Let’s find out,” Lightwood says. “But first: everyone thinks it’s an actual mirror. Are we sure we want to tell them differently? We aren’t certain about the lake being a Mortal Instrument, but even if we were, why draw attention to it?”

“So we do nothing?” Clary’s jaw is set.

Lightwood is grumpy but unmoved. “We find another reason why we suddenly have a problem with the most idyllic body of water.”

That shuts up everyone.

“Back to the drawing board,” Lightwood says wryly. “Keep me up to date, and don’t forget about the Werewolves and Vampires. I’m going to draw the proposal for the Clave.”

*

When Jonathan brings his blade to a stop there are four targets down and one shredded.

“I don’t have the budget for this.” Lightwood sighs as he comes into the open training area. “Between you, Jace, and Izzy, there’s no place for anybody else to train. I need to stab sacks too.” He’s carrying a laptop and several folders.

“What’s that?”

“This is my big plan to save the Institute from destitution,” Lightwood says. “The Tower of the Sea.”

Jonathan frowns, not understanding.

“It’s made out of silver and gold and sapphires,” Lightwood explains as he gets out a picture. “We lent it to the Seattle Institute fifty years ago to deal with a Warlock and have been trying to get it back since. You’re going to get it back for us.”

Jonathan shakes his head. “I’m not in the mood for diplomacy.” Then, realizes that is not the way he should speak to the Head of the Institute, he qualifies, “I don’t have the patience these days. I’d make a mess of it.”

“No,” Lightwood says. “You are in the mood to fight.”

Jonathan shrugs lightly.

“You’re so jittery, you’re about to jump out of your skin. Provoking Jace just to be the target of his temper was downright desperate,” Lightwood observes lightly.

Jonathan glares.

Lightwood looks at Jonathan and their eyes meet. “Don’t negotiate with the Seattle Institute,” Lightwood says quietly and Jonathan never realized that Lightwood’s eyes are so... “Don’t roll over. _Hunt._ ” A breath. _“Bait.”_ Another one. _“Win.”_ His eyes are huge, intricate, pools of blue, green, and brown that draw Jonathan in.

Jonathan swallows fast and he can feel the warmth in Lightwood’s body, sense his cologne, as Lightwood continues, “You don’t want to kill practice targets because they are objects that don’t know they’re beaten. They’re nothing more than sacks and sand.” Lightwood’s voice drops. It becomes more intense. “But those Shadowhunters, _they will_. And when you make them angry, when you see the jealousy written plainly on their faces, when you’re able to read hopelessness in their body language, so will you.” Lightwood exhales, slow and drawn out, and Jonathan stops breathing. “No blood necessary.”

Whatever moment they had, ends abruptly and Jonathan discovers that he’s breathing heavier. He’s leaning forward. He’s angling his head. What the fuck?

Smiling wickedly, Lightwood leans forward and Jonathan has a new appreciation for him, both physically and mentally. “You don’t need to kill people, Jonathan,”—the way Lightwood says his name hits him like a ton of bricks, and Jonathan licks his lips—“you need to _win_.” He gives Jonathan one last intense look and pulls back.

Jonathan swallows heavily, arousal mingling with true appreciation. “Sounds good to me.” The words come out rough and Lightwood’s eyes darken.

“Get to studying,” Lightwood says, and presses the bundle into Jonathan’s stomach.

If Jonathan caressed Lightwood’s hand during the exchange, Jonathan thinks it should have been expected. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Jonathan is still riding the high of the victory against the Seattle Institute when he walks into the ops room and gets a shock.

Apparently, the Seelie Queen found out that the Clave didn’t have the Soul Sword in their possession and let all the other Downworlders know. Magnus reacted badly, and he and Lightwood are definitely broken up, the Downworlders are considering a rebellion, and the Clave are thinking about being out of reach for a while. It’s for everybody’s safety, of course.

That raises several questions. Where did the Seelie Queen get her information? Does the Clave have a Downworlder spy? What does she expect to gain by turning the Downworlders against the Shadowhunters? Yes, she has an actual dimension at her disposal and her kingdom is strong, but the Downworlders won’t bow to one ruler forever. That’s why the Accords exist in the first place. So why would she act like she did?

But what really shocked Jonathan is that Lightwood kept the Sword for himself.

Stupid or cunning?

“Jonathan?” Lightwood asks once they are alone in his office. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“What a _really_ vague question that I can answer easily without breaking my promise whether I had something to do with it or not,” Jonathan shoots back and incidentally proves his point. 

“I never doubted that you can, no matter how specific the question.”

Jonathan frowns and gives up; it’s remarkably easy to do with Lightwood. “No.” He wants to look at Lightwood, but can’t bring himself to meet his eyes, doesn’t know what he will find there or what he hopes to find, and studies Lightwood’s coat instead.

It’s black, kind of boring, and has a loose button.

Finally, Jonathan raises his eyes so his rune would activate, and finds that Lightwood’s are warm—no suspicion there, just expectation. “I didn’t spy on the Clave. No one told me they didn’t have the Sword. I neither overheard it nor did I somehow obtain the information before today. I had nothing to do with this, except being in the possession of the Sword and my attraction to you.” Mind and body, but that’s included. Also, that button bugs him. “I may have aided the situation for rebellion, but who didn’t?”

“True,” Lightwood says and sort of collapses on the couch, desolate pose following suit.

“Why?” Jonathan asks, his hand itching all the while, knowing that Lightwood will understand.

“If they have the Soul Sword, everybody knows where to get it.”

Jonathan nods, remembering Lightwood didn’t want to tell the world about Lake Lyn. They still haven’t figured a reason for getting rid of it. He walks to Lightwood’s desk to— _distract himself_ and—pick up the replica of the Mortal Cup.

Lightwood had commissioned Clary for a detailed picture of the original. He had it made when Jace had just returned to the fold and promptly distributed to the other Institutes so everybody would be on the lookout for it. To hear Clary say it, the toy on Lightwood’s desk is virtually the same with the exception of her signature on the bottom. Lightwood, supremely unimpressed as always, uses the goblet as a paperweight. Jonathan wonders if they’re going to have to do the same for the Sword. Maybe Lightwood could have bookends.

“Where did you put it?” That’s the one aspect that irks Jonathan. As far as he knows, Lightwood doesn’t have any safe houses. He could have taken it to one of the many woods or oceans, but then anybody could have stumbled over it. Lightwood likes control far too much to do something like that.

“Safe.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Jonathan informs Lightwood. The promise rune starts to burn, so Jonathan adds, “Other than the fact that you didn’t throw it in the Atlantic, or anywhere else it could be stumbled upon.” It continues to burn. “Also, I don’t think you have any safe houses so that’s out too.” The burning settles a bit, but it doesn’t stop. “It was too temporary anyway.”

Lightwood’s grumpy expression makes an appearance. “That wasn’t frightening at all,” he says drolly. “Do you want to tell me what decision I’ll make on the Mundane who stumbled into a Warlock’s spell? It’ll be less effort.”

Jonathan smirks and Lightwood rolls his eyes.

“Are you willing to let your family and friends die for it?” Jonathan asks somberly. He doesn’t ask if Lightwood is prepared to be tortured and killed for it, the answer is too obvious, but the family part, that’s surprising.

“I don’t think anyone can answer that without being placed in that position. Hopefully, it doesn’t get to that.”

“Are you hoping they—whoever _they_ are—won’t find out that you have it? How are you going to do that?” Jonathan knows that the Clave has its ways. Wait. “The Clave wouldn’t be able to use the Sword, I’ll grant you that. But the others? A truth potion slipped to you by a Warlock or… those vines that the Seelie Queen has.”

“That would mean that people suspect and if people suspect it’s over anyway.”

“Cheery perspective.”

Lightwood offers him half a smile. “But true.”

“It’s still…”

“I know.”

“And about Bane,” Jonathan says changing the subject. “I’m—”

“I know that too.”

Jonathan is uncomfortable and uncertain. He’s not sure, but he’ll guess it’s not a good look on him. When he has a purpose, he can manipulate others, even with the truth, but when he doesn’t… When he half wants to offer comfort, half wants for it not to be his problem, he doesn’t— _exactly_ —know what to do.

“I love him,” Lightwood says.

“I know.” Oh, good, now the shoe’s on the other foot. Good job, Jonathan!

“He loves me.”

“I know that too.”

“And it’s not that we—”

“We’d be a lot less burdened if love could solve everything.”

Lightwood stills. “Your fa—”

“Yes,” Jonathan hurries to interrupt.

“Have a seat,” Lightwood invites. “We can feel sorry for ourselves together.”

It’s as good a plan as any. Jonathan sits and takes in the room, not looking at the man next to him but being conscious of his presence nonetheless. He doesn’t feel any better, per say, but, at least, he is aware that Lightwood understands, even if only a small part. Neither of them says a word for the rest of the night.

*

“Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern,” the Seelie Queen says.

The Seelie Queen demanded that they come and they do. Next to her are Bane, Garroway, and Santiago, opposite her, are Jace, Clary, Lightwood, and him. The first two are present because of their involvement with the Sword in the past, Lightwood because he found Valentine, and Jonathan because he’s in charge of security. It’s all lies anyway. The people gathered today are calculated for the biggest explosion.

“Fuck you,” Jonathan replies frankly and then pauses briefly smirking at the insufferable Queen. He picks off like he never stopped, “…Bane, and your confidentiality clauses. I _paid_ for the complete service.”

Jonathan can read approval in Lightwood’s eyes and rebuke in his expression. Can’t have everything. Jace appears struck by lightning, a surprisingly good look on him, and Clary gasps.

Before Jace has the chance to gather his scattered wits, the Queen, irritated with Jonathan, tells Lightwood, “You knew.” And that fire just got added gas to it.

“You knew?” Jace repeats accusingly.

“Of course he knew, he doesn’t bring people in the Institute without knowing who they are,” Jonathan shoots back. Go big or go home.

Jace chokes—on too many replies to that, probably, or on his own stupidity—and gives Bane a chance to speak.

“I _kept_ it a secret,” Magnus defends.

“That large a quantity of pixie dust made me curious. I am aware of what kind of potions it may be used in, and, well, Valentine is one of a kind,” the Queen says with a giggle.

Clary frowns. “What potion?”

“Why the one that healed your brother,” the Queen answers with delight. “His skin, I think. However, that is _after_ he took Valentine hostage. He is the last person known to be in possession of the Soul Sword.”

_Jonathan, time to act your heart out—by telling the truth._

“Yes, my skin was burned in Edom,” Jonathan admits unflinchingly. “Once I found out where Valentine was dwelling I wanted him to pay for what he did to me. You can _bet_ ,” he spits, “that I took the Sword and used it to make him talk.” And Jonathan did get it, the timing is not important. He licks his lips. “I… It wasn’t what I expected to hear. I turned to the Clave once more. My _name_ is Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern, but it’s also Jonathan Darkwater.” Lightwood made sure of that.   

Maliciously, the Queen leans forward. “And what did you hear?”

“That he loves me,” Jonathan says quietly and watches his boots so he won’t be tempted to smile. At the time, it was… horrible, but now, manipulating things his way, is invigorating.

Gasps and noises of anguish are heard all around. Clary takes a step forward, while Jace takes one backward. How unusual for him to retreat. Then again, he grew up with the same man.

“You returned to the Clave.” The Queen is losing sympathy points and is annoyed about it. “To whom specifically?”

Jonathan doesn’t have time to think of an answer because Lightwood answers, “To me. I had been on the lookout for Jonathan. When he came to me, he told me the whole story and I went to get Valentine.”

The Queen is unimpressed. “You trusted him?”

“I made a promise,” Jonathan cuts in and he sees from the corner of his eyes Jace clenching his fist and releasing it.

“A promise to tell the truth is worth nothing,” the Queen dismisses. “Jonathan can tell you his truth or only part of it.”

Lightwood turns to Jonathan looking pale. Jonathan was expecting it at some point. He knew what he did when he did it. He promised not to lie and understood the significance of that; he wasn’t going to get away with half-truths. The fact that Lightwood didn’t is his business.

The Queen, pleased at what she probably reads as betrayal on Lightwood’s face—everybody else is—proceeds. “What did you do then?”

Recovering somewhat, Lightwood says, “I collected Valentine—”

“Tortured him,” the Queen breaks in.

“And dropped him off to the Clave,” Lightwood finishes not batting an eyelash at her accusation.

“Whereby you were in the possession of the Mortal Cup and the Soul Sword,” the Queen announces.

“Valentine told me where I could _find_ the Mortal Cup, he didn’t give it to me. I went for it in the morning when I thought nobody would see me, but it wasn’t there. It’s not surprising that Valentine would lie,” Lightwood says. And Jonathan started to get suspicious. Lightwood didn’t say that ‘in the morning,’ was the only time he checked. He also didn’t outright state that Valentine had lied about the location. ‘It’s not surprising that he would’ isn’t the same as ‘he did.’

What if Lightwood really has the Cup? It means that he has two of the Mortal Instruments. No. He knows about Lake Lyn. He has all three.

“And the Soul Sword?” the Queen asks impatiently.

“The Clave has it,” Lightwood answers, so quickly as to be automatic.

The Queen glares at Lightwood. “Haven’t you heard what he had to tell about it?” She gestures to Jonathan.

“They have to have gotten to Valentine, they have their ways,” Lightwood says, and avoids Bane’s eyes. “They may not be willing to show it to you, but that’s a good thing. To parade it right now it’s dangerous. They’re _doing_ a good thing. The Clave has it, I’m sure of it.”

While everyone can’t believe how stupid Lightwood’s being, Jonathan can’t believe how smart Lightwood is. He’s playing everyone. The Sword is in his possession; naturally, the Clave has access to it if they knew who to ask, so it’s not a lie to say that the Clave has it.

“You lie!” the Queen accuses, but she’s fast losing her certainty. When she gestures to the vines on the side and they don’t move, she makes a disgusted face. “You are a fool then.” She shakes her head. “No matter. You did wrong by us.”

“Not another game,” Jace growls.

Suddenly, Jonathan understands why the Queen didn’t realize that she was being told half-truths. She wasn’t expecting Lightwood to have any of the Instruments, she just wanted to be seen as a fair and just ruler who gave the Shadowhunters a chance, while succeeding in destabilizing the existing structure even more. Jonathan got out well, even won himself some points, while Alec proved himself loyal to the Clave to a fault, if dumb about it. A true soldier. It isn’t the best image he could have portrayed, but it was the only one they’d believe. Moreover, it still left the door open for patiently showing him how the Clave is cruel.

The Queen snaps her fingers and vines begin to twine around Lightwood’s feet. “Only the kiss you most desire—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jonathan interrupts.

The only ace left in her sleeve is Lightwood’s desire for another after Bane just broke up with him. 

That’s got to stop.

Jonathan takes two quick steps to Lightwood, grabs him by the neck, and brings his head to Jonathan’s shoulder.

“You’re okay,” Jonathan whispers, engulfing Lightwood in a strong embrace. “Everybody is okay. I’ll make sure they stay that way. I’ll _burn_ the world to ensure it. So, close your eyes for a second. Relax. And I’ll keep watch.” He waits a second until Lightwood’s shoulders start to lose their tension, and presses a light kiss to Lightwood’s hair.

Lightwood _melts._

And the vines disappear, the Queen is in a tizzy, the others are confused…

But that’s not as important.


	5. Chapter 5

_“I’m not gay, I kill people. Torture some of them.”_

_“I do too, but it was the gay thing I had issues with.”_

Jonathan thought at the time that Lightwood was exaggerating, but apparently not.

“What did he promise you?” Jace asks—borderline accuses—Lightwood.

Clary’s at Jonathan’s elbow, lightly touching him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That was a nice _kiss_ ,” Bane observes airily.

They have all just come out of Magnus’ portal near the Institute and apparently, even when they’re not working at maximum potential, the Seelie Queen’s tactics prove fruitful. Their group is in a tizzy. Granted, they wouldn’t have been if there had been no secrets, but Jonathan feels like that’s not a realistic view of any situation.

“I wanted us to get to know each other, but not in a forced way,” Jonathan claims and it’s true enough. “We haven’t grown up together so it’s a bit late to start the sibling process now, but we’re family and I wanted us to have a real chance.”

“About the kiss, just how much leniency would we get if we arranged it so you’ll have a full eight hours of sleep for a week?” Santiago asks. The question is addressed in a mocking tone, but the look in his eyes is surprisingly serious.

Garroway looks similarly curious.

“I thought that was the hidden advantage of the Downworlder Cabinet,” Lightwood answers, ignoring his parabatai for now.

Somber, Santiago nods. “See you next week, Shadowhunter.” Then he zaps away.

“It’s good to know that we all value the Cabinet,” Garroway says instead of ‘goodbye.’

“The Seelie Queen presents some lovely _solutions_ and I am inclined to listen, if only for my people,” Bane says delicately. “Perhaps there are others that I can offer them instead.” With that and a theatrical gesture to open a portal, he is gone.

“Alec,” Jace presses, and Jonathan remembers that Lightwood never responded to Jace’s earlier accusation.

“He didn’t promise me the truth, Jace,” Lightwood answers tiredly.

“What then?” Jace insists.

Lightwood shakes his head. “That’s between him and me.”

Clary takes a deep breath. “Maybe we can have lunch tomorrow?”

“Certainly,” Jonathan says with a pleasant smile.

*

Jonathan doesn’t catch Lightwood that night before he goes to bed and can’t help but think that this is a good thing. Frankly, Jonathan needs to order his thoughts. His heart is beating too rapidly for a simple meeting and the sheer size of the secret Lightwood’s carrying still takes Jonathan’s breath. He’s almost giddy.

*

Lunch doesn’t go okay. Jonathan could have guessed that, but he’d have trouble pinpointing the reason. The bone of contention starts by being Jocelyn Fairchild, who can do no wrong in the eyes of her daughter but whom Jonathan is highly critical of. It changes though.

When Clary says, “She loved you, Jonathan, despite the demon blood, despite how Valentine treated her, despite everything.”

Jonathan frowns and replies, “That makes it seem my fault. None of it was.”

“Of course, not!” Clary bites her lip and continues. “But… It must’ve been hard for her and she loved you.”

_But she loved you anyway_ , is what Jonathan hears. His ears ring, and his sight is sharpened by the fury he suddenly feels. He swallows and chooses to focus on something else. 

“For her?”

“I mean… I saw what you did with the flowers as a baby, it was… odd.”

Jonathan leans back in his chair. “So let me get this straight,” he snaps. “I, as a baby, wilt flowers by my very presence. And it’s hard. For her.”

Clary hesitates, but nods.

“That must make her the best mom in existence,” Jonathan drawls. “Every other mom would have thrown her baby away to protect the flowers.”

Clary’s eyes narrow. “That’s not fair!”

“No, it’s not, but not towards who you think,” Jonathan says mockingly. “What would you have done?”

Clary thinks a bit. She puts her hand on his in… support? Comfort? “I can’t know how she felt, Jonathan. Nobody can and so we can’t judge her.” She squeezes his hand. “I think I would have tried to heal you.”

Jonathan is aware of demanding the same thing from Lightwood a few months back, but hearing it from his sister sounds… insulting. “Bane says it’s too late.”

“I don’t think it’s too late… I know we don’t have the Mortal Cup now, but it may be your only solution, so we’ll have to get it somehow. If you drink from it, it may clean your blood.” Clary smiles encouragingly. “Or other tools that Nephilim use, some of them may have purifying effects.”

“Are you saying that you know better than Bane?”

Clary denies the claim with a curt shake of her head. “No, but I care. It was the same for my mom, no one gave a damn, but I refused to accept it. In the end, I found a way.”

Those pesky _laws,_ who needs them?

Jonathan has the feeling that he and Clary might be more alike than he previously thought, and she doesn’t have the excuse of her blood being tainted.

What part of Jonathan is demon, and what part of him is simply… human? What part of his uncontrollable tendencies is his own and what part is learned? A lot of his attributes clearly run in the family. What if he was always a shitty person?

“I’ll find a way for you too,” Clary assures, blissfully unaware of his ongoing ruminations.

Why does it matter anyway? Didn’t Bane say that Jonathan had adapted? Is Jonathan willing to change in order to have less tainted blood? Does he not like himself? And why is he such a special case when Downworlders are perfectly acceptable to Clary?

Jonathan pulls his hand from Clary’s. “Thank you, but I don’t need to be fixed.” He stands and walks away, ignoring her calls to come back. It feels good; he feels oddly… victorious.

The bone of contention ends up being _them_.

*

Jonathan sees Izzy coming and hurries toward Lightwood’s office. Her face is almost disfigured in fury and he isn’t in the mood. Not today, possibly not ever. She might have put things together, but it’s what she can prove that’s important and since she has nothing, he’s not the kind of person to allow her to vent her frustrations his way. He barely makes it in.

“Hello,” Jonathan says cheerily while leaning his weight on the door. He rises with a kick only to fall back. If she’s trying to break in the Head of the Institute’s office, she won’t quit. Very well then, he can work with that. “Lovely weather we’re having.”

Lightwood slowly raises an eyebrow.

With a burst of speed, Jonathan opens the door when he calculates the new attack is going to land. Izzy comes flying through. She barely stops before smacking into the opposite wall.

“That is not professional behavior,” Jonathan reproaches.

Izzy’s on her feet again and ready to attack. “I will not be lectured by a murderer.”

Lightwood opens his mouth, but Jonathan cuts him off, “With all due respect, Lightwood, this is between me and her.”

A flick of Lightwood’s eyes gets him confirmation from his sister, and he nods.

“Give me one name, the person whom you actually take advice from, and I’ll shut up,” Jonathan says. “Because, by my count, you don’t lis—”

Izzy smirks and he knows she has an answer. “Clary.”

“Understood,” Jonathan says and glances at Lightwood. Izzy pales when she realizes the implications of what she said. “Well, I am a murderer as much as everybody in the Institute is.”

“We don’t torture people, we don—” Izzy cuts herself off and looks worriedly in Lightwood’s direction. Then, swallowing and lifting her chin, she says, “Most of us don’t torture people. Most of us don’t kill people.”

“That _suggests_ your true opinion of your friends, the Downworlders, who you’re required to kill if they break the Accords. Or are you sufficiently morally flexible to tell yourself they are monsters once they break the very Accords that you think aren’t fair.” Jonathan is done with this discussion and the hypocrisy—his and hers—inherent in it. “And torturing… Well, that depends. Do you include in that only extreme pain, no matter how temporary it may be, followed in some cases by death? Or do you open the bracket to include forcing someone to go against their nature stealing their chances of being themselves for the foreseeable future and, with it, at happiness?”

“That’s not torture, Jonathan. No matter how hard you try, nobody here _tortured_ you,” Izzy dismisses.

“Funny, I wasn’t talking about myself,” Jonathan says with a toothy smile. “I was only curious if you realized the length you were willing to let your brother be _fucked_ over for your actions and if you were willing to take responsibility. Wedding to a woman, was it?” Izzy stills, she doesn’t even look like she’s breathing as Jonathan continues, “Of course, he bears part of the guilt and the final responsibility rests on his shoulders. That doesn’t mean that you don’t have anything to do with the imposed marriage, but you can pretend it doesn’t exist. You can afford that. He can’t.

“So he, knowing perfectly well how hard the Law will come for him, how nerve-racking it is to make the right decision and what that even means, and just how difficult it is to juggle everybody and their ego, let me into the Institute.” Jonathan shrugs lightly. “You, as I understand it, don’t trust his choices or his advice. That’s your business, but my opinion is that you should. At least his choices, since he’s the one paying for them.”

At this point, Izzy appears to be caught between humiliation, regret, and fury… with fury rapidly gaining ground. “I am—”

“Not the Head of the Institute,” Jonathan replies implacably.

Izzy doesn’t give up. “I have the right—”

“This is not a democracy for a good reason,” Jonathan says steadily.

“Alec is _my brother_ and I do have the right to tell him when I think he’s making a bad decision,” Izzy says through clenched teeth.

Jonathan raises both eyebrows. “I could understand why he’d take your advice on different dangerous substances in your role as a pathologist, or how to best negotiate with the Seelies, though you might have gotten too close there, but, as his sister, I’ve got to say that sounds like preferential treatment.”

“Every leader needs a council,” Izzy warns.

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “And no council would ever dream of making decisions, especially ones that go against the leader’s wishes, warnings, and undermine him.”

“We only did that to save lives,” Izzy defends herself and her friends.

“Not thinking about the consequences of your actions and leaving your leader unaware but still scrambling to save you from certain death,” Jonathan maintains. “My, what great advisors you are.”

Izzy’s eyes are trying to glare a hole through Jonathan. “It cost Jace too.”

“A true fuck-up,” Jonathan agrees. “Imagine if Lightwood had somebody competent to counsel him at such a turn; someone whose loyalty is to him and not some aspirations for a greater good that haven’t been proven.”

“It was not only proven, it was _obvious_ ,” Izzy states. Her chin lifts up as she says the words as a fact and not an opinion.

“The Clave isn’t known for its benevolence and it’s the only institution of law enforcement in the Shadow World,” Jonathan states because he can do it too and he has the advantage of being right. “Didn’t the Seelie, for example, have some valuable information or another that he imparted as a gift for saving his life? Why didn’t he give to the Clave? Why didn’t he offer the opportunity to gather it yourself, here at the Institute, if only to escape the torture that was sure to follow? Why all the secrets, Izzy? Is his pride that important? Is proving a point? And if it is, why didn’t he tell you not to save him? Why did he run?”

Izzy’s ponytail swishes as she shakes her head. “You’re trying to confuse me.”

“The Seelie—Meliorn?—was suspected to have additional information that he didn’t tell the Clave,” Jonathan lays it out the simplest way he knows how.“Their methods are brutal but they were right: he didn’t say everything he knew. There was no reason not to reveal the information he possessed if he didn’t want to cause problems with and within the Shadowhunters.”

“Where do you get your information?” Izzy demands.

“It might surprise you, but the Institute employs a large number of Shadowhunters with whom you work daily,” Jonathan says dryly. “People talk.” And he stalked everybody, but that is hardly something to admit when Jonathan’s trying to keep the higher ground.

Izzy stops. She hesitates. “What else do they say?”

“I think you know,” Jonathan replies quietly.

“You’re responsible for a big part of it,” Izzy says solemnly.

“You’re pointing fingers,” Jonathan retorts.

Izzy tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Only towards the guilty.”

“Then you would be pointing them at yourself. Do you know that your colleagues heard your ‘quiet word,’ with Lightwood?” Jonathan asks wryly. “The least you could do is have the decency to berate him in private. It’s a good thing that he was proven right, but it’s not exactly something you can take credit for, is it?”

Izzy frowns while Lightwood for the first time loses his neutral expression and lowers his eyes towards the desk.

Enough.

“In the end, it’s not your place to approve or not,” Jonathan says clearly. “I have the Clave’s transfer if your brother’s okay is not enough for you. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have things to discuss with Lightwood.”

The tension is mounting in the room for long minutes before it shatters when the door shuts after her with a bang as Izzy leaves, without a final word but with a scorching glare.

“I didn’t like that,” Lightwood says slowly, grumpy expression fighting to be displayed.

“Sleep, forgetting for five minutes about your responsibilities, cats, knowing that everybody you care about is safe, and reading,” Jonathan lists. “No, it’s neither of those so I didn’t expect you to.” He smirks and whispers, “I know another one, a secret one, and I think that fits, but I’m not allowed to say it.”

Being the Head of the Institute is a position Lightwood longed for, showed promise at, and wanted to keep.

Lightwood snorts but doesn’t ask. “She won’t give up.”

“As long as I don’t give into my temper and don’t throw her addiction in her face, she won’t win.”

Apparently, Lightwood gave that one to Jonathan. “Why Lightwood?” he asks, changing the subject.

“May I?” Jonathan gestures to one of the chairs, Lightwood nods soon after, so Jonathan takes a seat. “There are a lot ‘Alex’s, ‘Alec’s, ‘Sasha’s, ‘Lex’s, ‘Alexander’s, and all variations thereof. Especially in the Shadow World. It’s the most used name among Shadowhunters, even if it doesn’t seem so here. ‘The protector.’ I can see the appeal.” He tilts his head. “But there’s only one of you and one who deserves the fuss around the name ‘Lightwood.’”

 “So it’s a compliment,” Lightwood says surprised. “Uhh… Thank you.”

Jonathan nods, it’s the truth as he sees it, and takes advantage of Lightwood’s state to unbalance him further. “Why aren’t you invoking the Angel?”

“Why would I?” Lightwood retorts immediately.

So maybe not so unbalanced.

“I don’t know,” Jonathan answers. And he doesn’t. “I thought that’s what one did when they have all the Instruments. Invoke the Angel, ask him for something.” He shrugs; he was always indifferent towards them. “Don’t you have ambition?”

“I have it,” Lightwood replies grinning sharply. “I also have power.”

Jonathan frowns.

“Yes, the Seelies despise me because they think I’m naïve,” Lightwood explains though he doesn’t seem too broken up about it. “Magnus has broken up with me, which hurts, both because it happened and because of how other Downworlders see me.” Jonathan can see that clearly, and Lightwood continues, “But, at the moment, nobody doubts my loyalty to the Clave even though I haven’t always done as they wished. The general consensus is that I’m a follower: Jace, Clary, Izzy, Magnus, the Clave, you name it. I don’t have an agenda for myself.”

Jonathan doesn’t nod because as far as he can tell, even though Lightwood’s agenda is to take care of Mundanes, Downworlders, and Nephilim, he has one, but Jonathan will admit that it doesn’t _look_ like Lightwood does.

“The Downworlders will speak more openly to me because I’ve established myself to be the lesser evil.” Lightwood lips curve a little but it looks distinctly sad. Jonathan agrees. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best Lightwood could hope for. “I’ve proven myself perfectly imperfect to every faction there is.”

Jonathan gets where this is going. “And yet there you sit,” he says smirking. “Right underneath their noses. An openly gay Shadowhunter, secretly in possession of the Mortal Instruments, who used to date a Warlock and has no special abilities or especially esteemed family connections, in charge of one of the Clave’s most prestigious Institutes, accepted by all.” He sits back. Jonathan’s in _awe_.

Lightwood beams prompting Jonathan to shake his head.

“Is there a reason you don’t summon Raziel?”

“Besides of having to sacrifice my parabatai to do it?” Lightwood asks sardonically. “Why would I? I have enough people I need to get around; I don’t need an Angel on top of it.”

“Fair enough,” Jonathan admits. “How about the Shadowhunters and our dwindling numbers?”

“I always wondered about that,” Lightwood replies with a pensive frown. “There’s a resource that’s virtually untapped and is growing larger each day.”

“You want to use Downworlders.”

“In their Packs and Clans they can be very effective, but they can also serve as Shadowhunters. Just because only Nephilim have always done it, doesn’t mean that Downworlders can’t.”

Jonathan is... Confused? Frightened? Happy? No, he’s _amazed_ at the sheer size of Lightwood’s plans and ambitions. Next to what Lightwood is trying to do, collecting the Instruments seems child’s play. “You’ll have to talk to the Downworlders.” Who won’t believe a thing. “And fiddle with the Accords.” A lot. “And pacify the Nephilim.” At every step. 

“I have you,” Lightwood says simply like it’s obvious. “Look, the Institute will help. I’ll coordinate, take on the Clave, and whatever else we need.” Lightwood twitches his fingers in a small dismissive movement, brushing it aside as if it were nothing. “Most of the negotiations, though, those are yours.”

“You wouldn’t want to leave a resource fall by the wayside,” Jonathan says dryly, but he’s inwardly pleased.

“I need to keep the budget down.”

Jonathan chokes on a guffaw and doesn’t know what’s happening to him.


	6. Chapter 6

Jonathan is giddy. It’s going to pass; it always does, so he savors the feeling while it lasts. He’s going to go into Vampire territory, into their home, with only Bane and his wits as protection. What could be more delicious?

“ _Are_ you ready?” Bane asks looking at him with… indulgence? Yes. It seems the right word.

Jonathan simply smirks.

This is the first step in Lightwood’s plan of bringing Downworlders into the fold and Jonathan is ready to implement it. There were many who thought that what Lightwood was trying to do was insane and never going to work, but Jonathan isn’t a skeptic. Lightwood has done his share of impossible tasks and, to further support that, now Lightwood has Jonathan. And Jonathan… he has to admit he very much likes the idea of winning, the feeling of getting everything he wants out of a well-fought negotiation, the sensation of being among the first to create something that will last. They’ll make it work.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” Santiago asks lazily from the middle of the large room, where he’s sprawled on an imposing leather armchair.

It sends over the right message. Santiago is not outright rude, but it shows that he doesn’t think much of Jonathan, the Institute, or the Clave. That is only reinforced by Jonathan not having a seat. He’s the only one, with the exception of the guards. Even Magnus has a backless chair, not too comfortable to show their displeasure at his mediating, but still something. It’s well done and Jonathan approves.

Simon, Clary’s friend, is seated next to Santiago. Lower, of course, but it’s interesting to see nonetheless. Is his proximity to Santiago a sign of trust or the opposite? Is Simon seated within striking-distance of Santiago because Simon can’t control himself or because he may have gained insight into the Nephilim? Is it possible to be all of the above or just a permutation? There may also be other reasons he’s there that don’t come to mind quickly enough. Only time will tell.

Scratch that, it’s very well done.

“My purpose here is to discuss our proposition for including you in the Shadowhunter program,” Jonathan says easily.

There are the usual reactions to his announcement: some are startled into speechlessness, some into laughter, some straight into accusations, and some into questions. Nothing Jonathan didn’t expect and he stays quiet until they calm down. He’s paying attention to the questions because he’s going to answer those and it wouldn’t do to have one take him by surprise, but he’s aware of the etiquette in these cases: until Santiago gives permission, Jonathan cannot address any other Vampire.

“Why are you discussing this _here_?” Santiago asks gesturing broadly to their surroundings. ‘Not on your territory,’ is implied.

“We thought it would be best if we met on your territory to show that the choice in this matter is yours,” Jonathan answers.

Santiago tilts his head. “Is that why Magnus is here?”

Jonathan receives the rebuke with a nod. “Additionally, we did not want arrogantly to come into your home so we followed proper channels: we made an appointment, gave you time to prepare, send just one of us, and we found the person with the most common ground to act as a mediator.”

“Who is ‘we?’” Santiago studies him. “The Clave?”

“We are the Nephilim of the New York Institute,” Jonathan responds. “I was chosen to speak for us. My words are in line with the Institute’s policies and approved by its leader.”

Santiago directs an enquiring look towards Bane, and, upon receiving confirmation, seems surprised.

“Go on then,” Santiago says. He is curious but wary. 

“We would like to let you know that we only mean to accept five new Nephilim per year as our numbers decrease,” Jonathan states clearly. “That means that the Clan is going to have to play a larger role in keeping the numbers of demons down. We would also like to invite your members to be a part of the Institute’s mixed Downworlder teams, where they would be matched according to their capabilities, given a Nephilim team leader, and an area to patrol. Our goal is to reach a point where Shadowhunters are made up of all five races: Vampire, Werewolf, Seelie, gifted Mundane, and Nephilim.”

The announcement seems to come down as a brick wall. Only not exactly, because a brick wall is not beyond anyone’s capabilities, in these circumstances, while the words he just said make people struggle. A lot. Bane is still slightly shaking his head as if he thought that it was going to change the fourth time—he needed to be told thrice—he heard it.

“That’s awesome!” Simon explodes.

While at the same time, a tired-looking blonde, presumably Dolly asks without an inflection, “Are you high?”

Santiago hasn’t given permission so Jonathan waits in a relaxed pose.

“It hardly seems fair,” Santiago says. “We have more work but the same status.”

“That is why you’re welcome to bring changes to the Accords,” Jonathan offers. “If you can prove that the claim is redundant, nonsensical, cruel, or it could have been written better, we’ll take a look for ourselves. The Head of the Institute will personally go to the Clave and argue for the changes in those situations you have successfully made your case.”

“Do you expect _that_ to work?” a black haired Vampire asks. Jonathan is certain she is Chen.

Santiago nods his permission.

“No,” Jonathan denies. “But it must be done.”

“Why?” Simon asks confusedly.

The older Vampires watch him with pity, but he asked so Jonathan will answer.

“Because those are the changes we want to happen and we hope to implement, but it will take time. The Clave is set in their ways, it’s not going to happen overnight,” Jonathan says. “Meanwhile, in short-term, we hope to show that our mixed teams are working, that we aren’t using as many Nephilim, but the city is not infested with demons. In about five years to ten years, we hope to be able to promote members from other races that have distinguished themselves to leaders of their own teams.”

Jacob—the stake earring makes Jonathan’s job easier—leans forward. “I get it, but what about the short-term gain. This might not even last a year.”

That one is simple and Jonathan is ready before Jacob finishes speaking. Nonetheless, Jonathan waits politely, before saying, “That depends on how you rate the fact that the team you are a part of may stumble upon—or actually investigate—and end up arresting Nephilim who break the Accords.”

“We can do that?” A blond Vampire—Zeke?—raises his eyebrows.

“Of course,” Jonathan replies. “As I said, the teams will be formed out of Downwolders and Nephilim—we need more time for training the Mundanes—led by a Nephilim, under the authority of the Institute.”

Chen is not convinced. “And you have the Clave agreeing to it?”

“Yes, it’s just waiting for your approval,” Jonathan confirmed. “And, naturally, your members.”

“How do you propose to navigate loyalty to the Clave with loyalty to the Clan?” Elliott—the hair is not that big a hint, but he has a permanent mocking smile which serves just as well—asks.

“That is your business, but we expect the teams to be loyal to the Clave when on patrol or planning, and the information gained from them to be held secret unless directly and specifically asked by your leader,” Jonathan responds. “If the Institute finds that somebody has breached the rule it results in their permanent expulsion from the team.”

Elliott, who was nodding thoughtfully all throughout Jonathan’s answers, stops. “Wait. That’s it?”

“Yes,” Jonathan says. “But I wouldn’t expect the new teams to know anything useful for quite some time.”

“Still,” Elliott quips and whistles.

There are nods all around.

But Chen is on another matter entirely. “How did the Institute manage to slip the teams past the Clave’s paranoia?”

“As you know, the Institute managed to deliver Valentine—”

A blond, strong looking Vampire—must be Derek—interrupts Jonathan. “Bow-boy did.”

“ _Alec Lightwood_ is of the Institute.” Jonathan pins Derek with a look. “As I was saying, the Institute managed to deliver Valentine thus earning the Clave’s respect.”

“Bow-boy managed to get the teams in exchange for Valentine,” Derek summarizes cheerfully. Jonathan’s look changes into a lazy glare. And for whatever reason—probably because Jonathan’s murderous thoughts could be read on his face—Derek corrects himself, “The Institute, I mean.”

Jonathan stays quiet.

Simon hurries to dispel the tension. “But that leaves the Clave not liking the idea.”

“Some of them will never like it and they are sure to be joined by others as they grow up or simply fear the loss in status,” Jonathan says. “However, some accept it already. There will be some who will change their minds towards being all right with the idea, and others that we can convince. Finally, there will be some that die. And the new generation will grow up in a different world.”

“If there’s somebody likely to die it’s the bo—Alec,” Elliott says with a bitter smile.

Jonathan’s eyes flicker over to Bane whose knuckles, draped over one knee, have turned white.

“He may,” Jonathan states, keeping his tone light despite the unfamiliar and unwelcome thud of his heart. “That is a reason to hurry and show that the Institute’s idea works. However, he’s not the only one at the Institute who advocates for the—”

“He’s the only one who got shit done without any losses on our part,” Dolly interrupts.

“That’s not fair,” Simon tells Dolly.

“I heard that he even tortured Valentine,” Jacob says with satisfaction, but he’s watching Jonathan slyly making him think that it was meant to provoke.

As if.

“I do not think Lightwood will die,” Jonathan breaks in. “Now that the Moral Cup is no longer an option, the Clave will try to prove that his solution to its numbers issue won’t work. As long as the Cup is gone, the Clave will probably do their level best to ensure that it does _not_ become a permanent change in policy, but to have a martyr is against their interests.”

Jonathan ignores the next question, ‘What is it about the British accent that makes you sound so smart?’, which is quickly shouted down, but answers the following one, ‘What protects Lightwood from everybody else he lets in the Institute?’ And Jonathan understands that they meant to ask, ‘What’s going to stop a Downworlder from killing him?’

“It is unknown how long the Cup will stay gone,” Jonathan says with a smirk.

“What protects him from you?” Santiago asks cutting through the muttering Jonathan’s answer caused. “And people like you. What protects him from demons? What protects him from people that want to see the world burn?”

“ _Every_ one of us who has an _interest_ in Alec Lightwood’s continued survival,” Jonathan shoots back with a toothy smile.

Jonathan hears a snort and he turns his head to see Bane laughing quietly.

“Nicely _said_ ,” Bane observes airily, but there’s a vengeful glint in his eyes.

Jonathan winks.

“Hey!” Simon shouts. “You’re him! Clary’s brother. You’re the one encroaching on Magnus’ territory. The one with demon blood.”

The mutterings stop. Vampires shut up, and watch Jonathan and Simon. Poker faces are all around, and Jonathan meets the resulting silence with narrowed eyes.

_“Idiota,”_ Santiago whispers.

“What?” Simon swivels to Santiago on his desk chair. “He is.”

Santiago closes his eyes for a beat and then he opens his mouth to say something, but Jonathan is ahead of him.

Putting an arm around Bane, Jonathan leans down companionably and says in a mock-whisper, “What do you think Lightwood would say to him being called ‘territory?’”

Both of their mouths stretch in blood-thirsty grins.

“I knew you’d agree,” Jonathan purrs.

“Perhaps, we _could_ make Sorel repeat it to him,” Bane says thoughtfully as he leans into Jonathan’s embrace completely sure that Jonathan will keep him steady. “Though I must say, no one seems _that_ stupid.”

The thing is, Jonathan _does_ keep Bane from falling, and that scares the shit out of him.

But Jonathan smirks in agreement continuing their little moment. With a squeeze to indicate that he’s going to move, Jonathan straightens and says, “As for Clary being my sister, we don’t choose our families.”

Elliott barks a laugh and many Vampires smile.

“And I don’t _like_ the use of ‘encroach,’ here,” Jonathan continues to complain. “Make me sound like a Shax demon.”

“You probably have their blood,” Simon mumbles.

Jonathan pretends to think about it. “Probably. I guess that depends on how accurate religion is.” He shrugs lightly. “I have Lilith’s blood, and if you think she’s the Mother of Monsters, then yes.” 

“Lilith?” The word seems to fly from Chen’s mouth as she’s startled.

Jonathan nods. “By far the better parent.”

“It’s not fair to compare anyone with Valentine,” Zeke dismisses though he adds gestures this time. They are choppy. Somebody’s more surprised than he’d like others to see. “I heard that the Clave has narrowed their options concerning Valentine.”

“They have,” Jonathan confirms. “It’s between de-runing and execution. They seem to think that he’d escape capture eventually.”

“What do you favor?” Elliott asks sharply.

“I wanted to send him to Edom, everything else is too tame,” Jonathan explains.

Dolly looks skeptic. “Why didn’t you?”

“I had something to prove,” Jonathan asserts catching Bane looking at him with a soft smile. “Back to our proposal, any more questions?”


	7. Chapter 7

It is Jonathan’s third day negotiating with the mixed Downworlder teams, he’s enjoying himself when his phone beeps. He’s immediately on alert. Only emergencies get though. He doesn’t apologize as he goes for it—and yes.

The Institute’s under attack.

“Bane?” Jonathan asks.

But Bane is already upright. He must’ve felt the wards being destroyed. “Let’s _go_.”

“Attack on the Institute?” Santiago questions them lazily.

Jonathan studies him briefly. “Yes.”

The portal is done and Jonathan is already moving toward it.

“I guess we’ve got to protect our interests,” Santiago says and sighs.

But Jonathan feels him come right after him.

“ _Circle_ members,” Bane notes, taking the chaos in.

Jonathan doesn’t answer. He already has the first one in a hold. With a flick of his hand, he has slit the member’s throat and pushed him through the portal. Now Jonathan has a glamour and no person to shout ‘foul.’ Just as he wants it.

“There’s Bane!” Jonathan says loudly. Hm, Australian accent.

Bane raises an eyebrow and topples the first two Circle members. Santiago gets rid of one that approaches from Bane’s blind spot. And Jonathan takes out the other four who have turned their backs to him.

Amateurs.

Jonathan salutes Bane, making him snort, and goes deeper into the fray. Nobody knows he’s there until they’re on the ground, bleeding. He slashes, jumps, throws, flips, and, once, even twirls.

Elliott applauds Jonathan on that last one.

“Jonathan?” Lightwood asks warily.

Jonathan turns and Lightwood—bow present, arrow at the ready—is ten steps away. “How did you know?”

“You were showing-off and Jace is to the left,” Lightwood says, shrugs, and fires.

Jonathan doesn’t flinch. It’s useless anyway. But the arrow sinks into somebody behind him as he hoped.

“Thanks,” Jonathan offers. It’s his turn to throw a dagger and it’s a good thing that he has someone to throw it in because Jonathan would have anyway. As it is, it stops a Circle member who was just starting to turn toward Lightwood.

“There wasn’t anyone behind me,” Lightwood says with a grin. “But thanks anyway.”

“Now versus in two seconds.” Jonathan weighs on his hands. “It’s pretty much the same.”

“In two seconds I could’ve done this…” Lightwood somehow gets his bow behind him and shoots the tip-toeing man sneaking up behind him in the femoral artery.

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “And I could have done this…” He ducks under a member’s swing and stabs a man through the underside of his chin. “Why hasn’t yours used an iratze?”

“They are appallingly trained.” Lightwood frowns as he watches the unconscious man. Sighing, Lightwood bends and applies one himself, followed swiftly by a sleep rune.

Jonathan throws him a questioning look.

“If he didn’t do anything he doesn’t deserve to die.” Lightwood shrugs. “If he did, he doesn’t deserve to die quickly.”

Jonathan finds himself agreeing. “Why the attack of the incapable?” he asks as he surveys where he’ll do the most good.

“Valentine is going to be de-runed,” Lightwood says absently. “It’s procedure to transport him to an Institute to reenter the Mundane World. Maybe they thought we’d be it?”

Jonathan smir—no, he actually grins. “You and your budget… Lightwood, I swear if you’re thinking of selling tickets I am no longer the most blood-thirsty at this Institute.”

“ _I_ didn’t just think of that,” Lightwood defends himself.

His grin is getting wider, Jonathan accuses, “No, you already planned it.”

Lightwood laughs and doesn’t say ‘no.’

“Heads _up,_ my lovelies,” Bane says in a sing-song voice.

Jonathan does, though he’s annoyed. He’s no one’s ‘lovely,’ not even Bane’s. And he sees…

“Aren’t dragons supposed to be extinct?” Lightwood asks, grumpy expression in full force.

“They are!” Jace shouts from somewhere.

Lightwood rolls his eyes. “Then why is one flying towards me, Jace?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” Jace answers with a shrug. He came closer while they were admiring the demon dragon.

“Great!” Lightwood takes aim. “I’ve got this.”

An arrow, an explosion… and lots of nasty little demons.

“What the actual fuck?” Elliott yells, expressing Jonathan’s thoughts precisely.

“Ewww,” Lightwood whispers under his breath, while he takes aim at a used-to-be-dragon.

Jonathan, who was preparing to throw a dagger in another one’s direction, freezes. Something bubbles up in his throat, and he brings his hand to his mouth. It’s unconsciously done, he knows the difference between actually being sick and being… he’s never felt something quite like this. Never felt something this _good_.

And just like that, Jonathan realizes he’s laughing. Guffaws literally shake his body.  Big, loud things that he can’t stop. He has problems breathing but this time, it’s not so bad because he’s just… just so amused. 

Bane has a hesitant smile on his face as he looks at him between throwing spells at the pieces-of-dragon, Jace appears to think he has lost his marbles, and Lightwood is staring fixedly at Jonathan, a surprised grin on his face.

Then Jonathan remembers and snorts loudly. “Lemme get ‘is strai’,” he tells Lightwood breathlessly. Jonathan gulps a mouthful of air. “Murder, maiming, and torture is the usual. Shax demons are fiiine. But dragons—” He interrupts himself chuckling. “But drago… but dragons are ‘ewwww.’” He leans to the side, laughing too hard to maintain his balance.

Jace snorts and Bane bites his lips to keep from joining Jonathan.

Lightwood’s reaction, though, is hilarious. “It’s not my fault. They have wings, and spit fire, and shriek, and then they turn into rat-things.” His expression is as disgusted as Jonathan has ever seen it. “They’re supposed to be gone, and here they are, many rodent-type demons making a single flying leathery-winged lizard that spits combustible ichor. Why am I the only one alarmed? That’s the question.” Lightwood makes a repulsed face.

Jace’s shoulders are shaking, Bane grins still biting his lips, and Jonathan has to sit down.

All the Circle members are out anyway.

But lo and behold…

“Jace, they _are not_ extinct enough!” Lightwood exclaims as he takes aim at another one. He misses. And he… he _yelps._

Jonathan is done for.

Luckily, Jonathan is not the only one fighting. Jace gets into position. Lightwood rolls his eyes and prepares another arrow. And Bane laughs as he sends a spell straight into it. The dragon explodes. Of course, that is followed by the handful of little demons that are the target of Lightwood’s added disgust. Jonathan gets two.

“That’s it?” Jace asks looking around him.

“What if… what if we’re missing something?” Jonathan questions still chuckling doing his share to inspect their surroundings. He’s on his feet in a fraction of a second. “Lightwood, the portal!”

Because there Valentine is. Preparing to step through, and because most of the Vampires are here, he might actually get away. This… this is the Clave’s doing. Jonathan said it: they are doing their level best to discredit the Institute. Losing Valentine would be catastrophic for its relations to the Downwolders. He can’t believe he didn’t see it before.

Jonathan can’t make it in time. However, he sure can try. All around he sees determined faces, but before Santiago can even think to follow, before Jace pounces, before Bane releases the portal spell, before much of anyone can move, an arrow is embedded into Valentine’s back.

A blink.

Then Bane releases the portal and Santiago is there.

“Dead,” Santiago pronounces. He’s looking at Lightwood with a neutral face. “He’s dead.”

Lightwood lowers the bow—and the next arrow he was going for remains in the quiver—and suddenly looks thoughtful. “I’m not sure if I was authorized to kill him.”

Santiago has the clearest ‘are you kidding me?’ expression and Jonathan kind of wants to know the circumstances behind Santiago perfecting it.

“I mean, sure, his arrival coincided with a failed invasion by the very people who are a part of his radical group. Plus two _dragons_ ,” Lightwood’s face darkens. “And he was leaving without following proper procedure. But is that enough reason to kill him?”

Elliott nods decisively. “Good thing you’re a shoot now, ask questions later type of guy.”

With a quelch, Santiago gets the arrow out. “You can never be too sure,” he tells them.

Fair enough.

“ _Actually_ , you were perfectly within your rights,” Bane soothes. “As the Head of the Institute, you can kill any and all convicted Nephilim if they act in a suspicious manner.”

“That’s not in the Accords,” Jace says.

“Yes, _it_ is,” Bane maintains. “It’s just not in your version of the Accords.”

“It’s got to go,” Lightwood says, and Bane hums noncommittally.

Jonathan is with Bane on this one.

“Sure it has to, but right now you’re acting on the Accords as they are, and, thanks to that claim, what you were doing was perfectly within the bounds of the Law,” Jonathan notes.

“And thank you,” Chen adds. “You behaved appropriately in our eyes too.”

Santiago bows his head briefly.

“Though we would have liked our chance at the bastard,” Derek says.

“I apologize,” Lightwood offers formally.

“All is forgiven,” Santiago states.

And that’s it. They all understand, the formalities are out of the way, Jonathan didn’t get the chance to confront his father again, but it’s as much of a blessing as anything. There was no winning with Valentine and, no matter what Jonathan did, Valentine wouldn’t get that he was in the wrong. Returning to Valentine once, hearing him _justify_ what he did, go on about what he had to do and how he had no choice, already left a bitter taste in Jonathan’s mouth, Jonathan didn’t want to feel it again and again. This chapter has thankfully ended.

So what now?

Clary comes running with Izzy into the courtyard. “What happened?”

Jonathan just _had_ to ask.

*      

So one day, not long after Valentine’s failed escape—maybe a month and a half?—Jonathan is walking down a hallway to do… something. What it is that he had to do disappears from his mind as he suddenly observes his surroundings. Were there always this many suits of armor in the Institute? They must’ve. He’d have noticed the difference. But did they always have swords? Huge swords. In which one could hide…

_“Son of a bitch!”_ Jonathan shouts startling two Shadowhunters.  

Jonathan doesn’t say sorry. He doesn’t say anything because he’s running toward Jace’s room. And Jace is not there. That means that Jonathan has to go to the large training room, which is one level down, and…

“Jace!” Jonathan shouts. It’s a very shouty day. “Take your shirt off!”

Jace gives him a puzzled look.

“Off!” Jonathan makes a slashing gesture. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

Jace raises an eyebrow. “I’d like to see you tr—hey!” Because Jonathan is already there and tearing it open. “Have you ever heard of personal space?”

“Yes, and I swear this is the last time I’ll break it,” Jonathan promises as he watches Jace’s torso and arms. “Tell me, do you have most of your runes done by your parabatai? I hear it’s preferable.”

“Yes,” Jace answers bemusedly.

Jonathan turns on his heel but before he breaks into a run, Jace catches his hand.

“My shirt,” Jace reminds him.

“I’ll buy you twenty.”

“Not good enough.”

“Then I’ll sew you one myself,” Jonathan offers. “That good enough?”

“You have a month.”

But Jonathan is already moving away because Jace had let him go.

In no time, Jonathan is knocking at Lightwood’s door. Jonathan shifts his weight from leg to leg as he waits for Lightwood to give him permission to enter. It finally comes, and Jonathan rushes in. He’s already done a couple of runes that should ensure the conversation stays private by the time Lightwood says his name and leans his weight on the door.

“Is anybody going to barge in?” Lightwood asks dryly. “Again?”

“No,” Jonathan dismisses his concerns.

“Then how is our plan working?”

“Fine.”

Lightwood waits and Jonathan gives in. He doesn’t know why, the promise rune isn’t even warm. Maybe he doesn’t want it to burn, maybe he needs to gloat, or maybe he’s affected by some truth-telling illness.

“We’ve got ten Vampires already, but we can easily push for twenty. I would count myself lucky if the two Seelies end up signing up, and the Werewolves are up in the air, right now, but we should be able to get ten,” Jonathan lists.

“I was actually talking abo—” Lightwood interrupts himself. He stops for a second, and then praises, “Thank you. You made great progress. We couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

Jonathan, deep, _deep_ down in his heart, preens.

“What about our ‘small-steps’ plan?” Lightwood asks lightly.

And Jonathan is derailed once again because… It never came up. He’d been busy with turning the Downworlders into Shadowhunters, and before with the Seelie Queen, and before that with the thing at the Seattle Institute, and… Jonathan _didn’t_ forget. He was waiting. And not realizing that the plan was… working. Oh shit, he is an idiot.

Lightwood is watching him neutrally.

“I…may have… lost sight of it,” Jonathan says haltingly. When Lightwood frowns, Jonathan adds, “Which is to say, it’s working unexpectedly well.”

Lightwood’s face brightens with a wide grin. And fuck, he’s beaming. Jonathan swallows and changes the subject.

“Is that the Mortal Cup?” Jonathan asks abruptly, gesturing to the paperweight. Not the smoothest change of subject, but in his defense, he isn’t feeling at all balanced.

Lightwood’s eyebrows jump. “You _know_ what this is,” he says. “It’s got Clary’s signature.”

“That’s not a ‘no.’”

Lightwood leans back in his chair and studies Jonathan. “Take a seat,” he invites. “Tell me what you think you know.”

Jonathan moves. He’s in Lightwood’s personal space in one second. Jonathan weighs the Cup replica—what he thinks is actually the Mortal Cup—in his hand. Then he drops on the ground and sweeps Lightwood’s papers from his desk with one arm movement. The Mortal Instruments never interested him and they certainly don’t do now compared to the treasure of his discovery. If he’s right, Lightwood is… Jonathan bites his lip. In another blink, he’s sitting on Lightwood’s desk, legs bracketing his knees.

“I know that there are an awful lot of swords at the Institute,” Jonathan begins. “They’re big. You could have found an artist to mold the Soul Sword into one of them.”

Lightwood doesn’t twitch.

Jonathan assesses Lightwood carefully, before continuing, “Commissioning artists is nothing new for you. You did it with Clary when you correctly assumed that at some point you were going to need some decoys of the Cup. You could have found another forger for her signature. It wouldn’t even be hard. The Mundanes wouldn’t realize the importance.” He leans forward. “And I know that your parabatai sports runes that are an exact copy of the ones in the Grey Book. If you were _that_ hard up, you could have copied that signature yourself. ”

Still closed off, Lightwood watches him.

“Your secrets are safe with me, Lightwood,” Jonathan says. He says it simply. Easily. And it should be obvious. Because he would follow Lightwood… “To Edom, remember?” Jonathan asks while placing his hand on Lightwood’s chest.

Lightwood swallows. “You just threw the Mortal Cup aside like trash,” he comments and Jonathan grins widely at the confirmation. “I suppose the point of this was something else?”

“I am glad you exist,” Jonathan tells him honestly. “And it’s _so hot_ that you do.”

Lightwood smirks, but his eyes, looking up at Jonathan, are dark.

“I’m not interested in that,” Jonathan says gesturing carelessly to the Cup. “Or the Sword. Or the future of the Shadowhunters. Or any future, really.” He licks his lips and Lightwood’s eyes drop to them. “What I am interested in, as you correctly guessed, is winning. Doing things that others wouldn’t dream of. Succeeding where others would fail. Building a system that would be talked about for centuries.” Jonathan leans a bit closer. “And you. You, first. You, the most.”

Eyelashes lowered, Lightwood inhales sharply.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Jonathan explains. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Lightwood whispers and he sounds wrecked.

But in the next blink, Jonathan is there. He grabs Lightwood’s arms, drags Lightwood up and over him. Jonathan wants to feel Lightwood’s weight pressing on him, wants Lightwood’s scent all around him, wants to feel the warmth of Lightwood’s mouth, wants… And Jonathan gets it all. Everything he imagined. And more. He moans, and scratches, and pets, and…

But it’s important to him that Lightwood feels the same. Vital, even. Jonathan couldn’t imagine doing this without Lightwood getting his fair share of the pleasure. It’s foreign to Jonathan, and he fears that it may be the case until Lightwood makes a sound. Tiny, but oh so _hungry._

And Jonathan lets go.

*

A knock on the door interrupts them. Well, no. There’s a knock on the door, and _Lightwood_ interrupts them, leaving Jonathan chasing for another taste. Jonathan narrows his eyes into slits and smiling, Lightwood places a quick kiss on the corner of Jonathan’s mouth.

Lightwood is at the door while Jonathan thinks if he’s mollified or not, tracing his iratze to get rid of the evidence that he was snogging. It doesn’t do much. “Yes?”

“Ah…”  The Nephilim probably didn’t expect Lightwood to look the way he did. It’s the night in which a thousand fantasies were born, Jonathan supposes. She sighs, and says, “The Werewolves say that Jonathan didn’t show.”

Oh, so that’s where Jonathan was supposed to be.

“I see. Thank you,” Lightwood says and closes the door. He turns toward Jonathan. “Well?”

Jonathan raised his hands. “In my defense, I did say that my first interest is you.”

Lightwood is grumpy again.

“Going,” Jonathan says, but only because in that direction…

Jonathan slams Lightwood against the door. Lightwood shakes his head but he can’t swallow a smile, and Jonathan smirks unrepentantly. He leans forward. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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